


A Little Evil

by Grimmseye



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Character Study, Other, Pre-Canon, Some places in this world are pretty fucked up, Spoilers, Tags to update, Venomous being an adrenaline junkie, Violence, Will eventually go into more of Venomous' relationships and past, Worldbuilding, title may change we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmseye/pseuds/Grimmseye
Summary: Professor Venomous — now there's a strange one. Came out of nowhere. He didn't dominate the villainous scene, he infiltrated, slithered his way into its core and decided that maybe he'd like to take the throne.That's not where the story begins, though.----Chapter Four: The First Meeting“My team’s not here right now,” he growls. “They’re never gonna know what really happened if I tell them you had a little accident trying to get away. Now, shut that thing off. This is your last warning.”The man, Boxman, is shaking, sweat beading on his brow. “Aren’t — aren’t — aren’t you supposed to be the hero!”





	1. Chapter 1

There are certain avenues that a more...  _ gray  _ outlook can afford you. He’s not a villain, certainly not — but he’s also not a hero. Neutral, maybe, is the best word for where he finds himself now. Though, maybe that’s the wrong thought to have when he’s wandered this deep into a negative zone. 

He’s still getting used to wearing his lab coat  _ out  _ of the lab, years of keeping that side of him hidden still so deeply ingrained. People didn’t expect the hero Laserblast to have a quiet passion for biochemistry, and he himself failed to see its value for so long. Why flaunt  _ smarts.  _ A good sense for chemical formulas doesn’t put your face in the spotlight. It doesn’t make your enemies quake where they stand. It doesn’t even give you real power.

He grimaces down at his hands. He’s grown used to their purple hue, but it’s a constant reminder of his mistake. It did  _ nothing  _ but change his skintone and give him a new case of insomnia. And it had done  _ nothing  _ since. 

There’s still that dissatisfaction as he strides down the street, hunched forward. People look at him and think he’s weak, especially here. He can see it in their eyes, and in the body that finally falls into step behind him. 

Through the reflection in the broken windows he passes, he tracks the figure tailing him. Big guy. Muscular. What _he _himself used to look like. But the difference was that _he _knew that wasn’t _enough. _

It’s an easy act to fall into, playing the game of realizing he’s being followed and quickening his pace in a mockery of fright. The figure gives chase, thinking himself quite the clever wolf. A taste of a hunt and he thinks he has Venomous pinned. He hasn’t realized what happens when you hunt a snake. 

Venomous guides him down another block, dips hastily into an alleyway. He lets his breath rise into pants as he jogs, neatly avoiding the stagnant water pooled below. The clouds are too dark, the air too cold, no time to let the last rainfall dry. A gate blocks off the exit he wasn’t trying to make. 

_ Step. Splash. Step. Splash.  _ The wolf approaches. He hears a chuckle puff into the air. 

“You’re a brave one,” a voice rumbles. “Don’cha know you’re out past curfew?” 

His mouth twists — a snarl, a smile. Hatred wells in his chest, but he’s  _ salivating.  _ The hand in his pocket grips a vial, he pries off its cap with a nail . “I’m sorry,” he whispers, hunching forward, turning around with his head bowed low. “I’m on my way home now.”

“Shoulda been home already,” they growl. “Now you’re here with me.” 

They reach forward, and Venomous strikes. He lunges, burying the needle of a syringe into a meaty neck. A fist catches his jaw, his teeth splitting his own cheek, copper bursting onto his tongue, but the pain is exhilarating, it brings laughter breaking free from his chest. As he steps back, giddy, can already see the drug taking its effect, adrenaline pumping blood fast to the brain, dimming the senses, slowing thoughts and impulses. A heavy body slumps to the ground. 

Venomous slides his hands into his pockets, hovering over the villain as he clicks his tongue in a scolding manner. “Now, now, that just won’t  _ do,”  _ he simpers. “Your eyes are too big for your stomach, my friend. But thank you — you’re going to provide some  _ very  _ valuable data.” 

Let’s see if he’s figured out how to keep the formula from stopping a person’s heart. 

He takes the time to record his notes, pulling tools out of a case to run a full diagnostic. He’s licking his lips. Venomous’ own pulse is quicker than it should be, the thrill singing under his skin. He doesn’t miss being a hero but  _ this?  _ The fighting. The power. The victory. It’s been too long since he’s had  _ this.  _

But he can’t stay here forever. He sighs as he packs up his gear and straightens up again, gliding out of the alley. Let the next villain that passes by do as they will. 

_ Venomous _ is the name he’s taken on these days. Trips off the tongue in satisfying way, he thinks. Appeals to his new... market. A bit too well at times. Though, no, that’s a bad way of thinking. Business is booming. That’s good. He just doesn’t have the hands and the time and the energy he needs to keep up with his backlog of orders, can’t work on his own projects when he’s too busy keeping all the villains eating out of his palm.

It’s a problem he’ll be removing soon, as he paces down the streets of this negative zone. It’s truly a sight to behold, so few heroes here, more vigilantes desperately trying to overcome their oppressors. This is what may lie in his future, a negative zone all his own, a place ruled by a villain. Maybe this would be his, too, and all the rest. It’s considered foul play for villains to fight either villains, but Venomous is a neutral party who stands to gain.

But he’s getting ahead of himself. Step one to world domination is getting a reliable partner.

They have businesses for that — Make-A-Minion-Workshop — but Venomous hasn’t gotten this far accepting someone else’s shoddy work. He’s built his own minions already, but they’re all just mindless bulk, just intelligent enough to put things where he says to or dump intruders down the appropriate chute. He knows exactly what he wants, it’s just a matter of the materials he needs. Intelligent, adaptable, strong. Sophisticated thought means sophisticated emotion — he needs something that will bond to him and see him as the first priority in that case, give it free will and let it freely choose to serve him.

He already has it set up. There’s a few lab rats back home. He just needs a healthy embryo from one of them, and everything he’s going to be bartering for here. 

One building stands out against the rest, pristine and well-guarded. That’s where the villain Virulent works, and that’s where he’s headed. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick warnings for this one: Violence against a young child (Fink). As mentioned in the previous chapter, there are Negative Zones in my worldbuilding, which are ruled by villains and aren't upheld to many moral standards.

He is  _ six months  _ into his quest to engineer the perfect minion. 

Six months is a longer struggle than he’s faced in a long,  _ long  _ while. Ordinarily a challenge would be exhilarating, something to finally pour some passion into. He craves anything that would occupy his mind, but for once the challenge is unwelcome. Venomous has made no progress. 

Rats, cats, birds, lizards, snakes, plants, a few dozen  _ other  _ bases, all have amounted to a waste of time and resources. He’d even taken humanoid embryos to treat, but none of them survived a few days out of their tanks. They didn’t exhibit the necessary sophistication and were duly discarded, or their organs began to shut down, their cognitive functioning regressed.  _ Nothing  _ was working. 

Venomous, apparently, still lacks the ability to create life with just his own hands. The moment he starts toying with strands of DNA, programming nonlethal viruses to rewrite the genetic codes in every last cell, something goes horribly wrong. 

He’s probably going to end up disposing of yet another half-grown creature tomorrow. Somehow, the thing’s cells managed to induce the virus’  _ lytic  _ cycle, and its cardiac cells are rapidly lysing at this moment. Another failure amid all of its predecessors, and this marks a brand new problem for him to decipher. 

It isn’t working. He’s hit a roadblock. Can’t make his powers stronger, can’t bring them back, can’t even build his own minion from scratch. All his failures have compounded to him having no powers and no strength and no friends and no name and no no  _ no fucking nothing —  _

Venomous snarls to himself, grimacing down at the sidewalk. He’s tired of venturing into these negative zones. The next villain to try to jump him is going to be on the receiving end of his newest creation — the result of octopus tentacles treated with special steroids and given an independent neural network. Given the right stimulation, they grab, crush, and tear whatever is in their grasp — the more struggling and screaming, the more aggression behind each move. 

The thought makes him smile and give a soft laugh.  _ That  _ would be fun. He hopes someone might try it now. He just needs to determine how to clearly exude both  _ weak and wealthy  _ to lure someone  _ —  _

The thought is interrupted by a sudden scream of pain. It’s a common sound here, and Venomous doesn’t so much as bat an eye while continuing down the block. What does catch his attention, though, is the cacophany that follows — shouts, angry,  _ “Get that fucking brat!”  _

A kid? His eyebrows rise. Venomous veers towards the noise instead of away, telling himself it’s idle curiosity. Maybe something opportunistic rearing its head, yes, that’s it. He can  _ always  _ use more humanoid blood samples. An impromptu spinal tap may be in order as well. 

He saunters around the perimeter of a large building — some kind of laboratory, though its exact field isn’t clear from the outside. There’s an undignified yelp, a man screaming “ _ I can’t fucking see!”  _ in a way that suggests he may have just lost an eye. Venomous feels a smile creep over his mouth and kicks up the pace, very much wanting to see the carnage now. 

There’s a high-pitched, furious shriek that splits the air, all senseless noise. It nearly drowns out the bellow of  _ “I’m gonna break your fucking neck!”  _

The screaming is suddenly choked off. Venomous rounds the corner. 

Out here is what seems to be a collection of guards wrangling a small child. A shock of white fur and washed-out pink hair is flailing in one’s grasp, a hand closed around her neck. Squeeze too tight, and those tiny vertebrae would crack. 

Now, Venomous is  _ probably _ certifiably evil at this point, may even show up on a POW card of his own soon, but he’s not a  _ monster.  _ Kids can be put down, knocked aside, those rookie heroes need to be driven back from the scene before they get any significant power. But he’s never had patience for those who go too far. World domination sounds lovely, but there is a  _ line.  _

Venomous pulls a ball out of his pocket and a bottle of water, dousing the dark-green orb. When he feels its smooth exterior start to squirm, undulating in his grip, he gives it an underhand toss. It sails over the heads of these goons in a smooth arc, bouncing twice on the concrete before erupting into a mass of tendrils. 

Shrieks ring out. Venomous strolls forward, lifting his palm to his mouth to sink his sharpened teeth into the meat of it. Blood bursts around his fangs and pools over his skin. Most of the goons are lucky enough to tear themselves away with little more than some bruises, maybe a sprained ankle or a dislocated arm as the tentacles try to seize their prey. Two get caught in the thick of it, a series of cracks sounding amid their wails of pain as their legs are engulfed and constricted. 

He’s not necessarily a  _ sadist,  _ but he can appreciate someone getting their just desserts. Attempting to murder a  _ child —  _ that’s far beyond  _ villainy.  _

And speaking of the child. She drops, not even enough breath to scream. Venomous breaks into a jog before his creation can seize a new thing to break, casting his wounded hand out in front of himself. The taste of his blood has the tendrils calming and parting for him, letting him pick his way through without complaint so he can scoop the creature up out of harm’s way. 

She’s  _ tiny.  _ Fits into the crook of his arm, her white fur stained bright red around his mouth and paws. Her breath comes shallow and quick, face pinched in abject terror. As Venomous extracts himself from the tendrils, leaving them to finish off their prey, red eyes snap open.  _ Albino, then.  _

She squeaks, and then bares her teeth. Before she can try to bite, Venomous pushes her head down, fingers safely tucked away from her mouth. “None of that,” he scolds. “I just saved you, you shouldn’t be so rude.” 

_ “Down!”  _ She screams — or tries to. Her voice is cracked, and the sound makes her gasp and cough. A frown pulls at Venomous’ mouth. 

“Shhhh,” he soothes, kneeling down. The last of the screams have been smothered at last, leaving them in blessed quiet. Those out on the street are likely and rightfully minding their own business. “You’re bruised at a  _ minimum,  _ don’t strain anything. That was very impressive though, kid. A bunch of tough grown-ups, and you send them screaming.” 

Even in her exhausted, terrified, angry state,  _ that  _ gets a smile cracking briefly over her mouth. Venomous chuckles at her weary glee. He sets the child down in front of himself, remaining on his knees. He supposes this is it, then. His heroics for the day are over — he has places to be. 

The child rubs her throat with a paw, wincing. “Why’d you do that?” she croaks. Her eyes narrow, mouth stretching into a sneer. “You a  _ hero?”  _

Venomous gives a faint shrug. “Nah, not a hero. But those guys were just…” He pondered the right explanation. “... the kind of people I  _ really  _ wanted to see suffer.” 

Her eyes go wide. Not fear, as he might have expected. They’re  _ shining.  _

It’s a look he hasn’t faced since the death of Laserblast.  _ Something  _ curls in his chest, not a bad thing. 

He tamps it down, clearing his throat and getting to his feet. “Well,” he says, awkward. “... Bye.” 

Venomous turns to head back onto the main drag, hands sliding into his pockets. He needs to pick up a new shipment of illicit materials if he doesn’t want his next commission to be late.  _ Someday  _ he’ll figure out how to get shipments into the neutral zone, but until then it’s regular flights here and doing the smuggling himself. 

He’s two blocks down when he realizes he’s being followed. There’s a soft,  _ “Watch it, brat,”  _ that catches his ear. Venomous halts, head swinging, just in time to catch the little rat child ducking behind a newspaper dispenser. 

_ Oh hell no.  _

A frown twists his mouth as he picks up the pace, crossing another street (no actual signals, just firing a laser gun into the road until the vehicles stop trying to hit pedestrians). He turns his head. There she is, pretending to study a sign. Another block down. Turn. She ducks into an alleyway. 

Venomous grimaces. He could just ignore her. She could follow him all she wants, eventually he’ll just get on a plane and she’ll be out of his hair.

Something has him pacing back towards her. He comes to the break between buildings, finding the alley she’d ducked into. There’s a dumpster back here, open — and a frizz of matted pink hair peeking over the rim. 

It twitches as he comes closer. “What are you doing,” he drags out, watching the fluff jump before her head pokes up. 

“Nothin’,” she rasps, glaring as though to dare him to argue. She clutches a tattered-looking doll in her arms.  _ Doll  _ is generous. It seems to be scrapped together from garbage. 

“Following me, you mean,” Venomous corrects. 

“Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head, or tries to before even that little movement makes her wince. She glares at him. Venomous stares back. He raises an eyebrow, their gazes locked for several moments before she cracks.  _ Stubborn. Brave.  _

“Fine!” She spits. “I wanna see you — you’re  _ strong!  _ I wanna be strong. Then no one’ll mess with —” She gasps and breaks into a coughing fit. It looks agonizing, her paw clutching her throat and her eyes brimming with tears when she’s finally able to wrangle it into control. 

She’s got spirit. She’s a fierce little beast. She’s smart enough to speak coherently when he’s certain she’s had no formal education. She follows him for the purpose of observation, learning.

Venomous gets an idea. 

“... Okay,” he says, already feeling like he’s going to regret this. “Tell you what, kid. I’ve been needing a minion.”

Her eyes narrow, but she inclines her head for him to continue. He smiles as he says, “You want to learn how to be like me? Come with me. I’ll teach you everything you want to learn. How to read, write,” she makes a face and he changes his tune, “and  _ just _ how hard a big man can fall.”

Something shifts in her hair. He wonders if she has ears to match her whiskers and tail. There’s that glimmer in her eyes, but it hardens again, glowering at him. Distrust.  _ Clever, too.  _ “What d’you get outta it?” 

“A minion,” Venomous says, and shrugs. “Someone to help in the lab. And look at me,” he gestures to his skinny frame. “If a big guy grabs me, and I can’t reach my weapons? I need someone to save me.”

And that’s what seems to do it. The mistrust melts out of her face. She’s just a little kid, after all. She’s exhausted, hurt, scared. Venomous offers a hand, even if his skin crawls looking at the garbage she’s perching in. “So — what do you say, kid?” 

She stares at his hand, at his face. A smile cracks across her mouth. Her eyes are glossy, and he does  _ not  _ know what to do if she  _ cries.  _ But her paw clasps his hand and she beams, voice hoarse and shaking as she says, “You’ve got a deal, boss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! As usual, please let me know what y'all think. It's the best way for me to gauge if my writing is doing what it's meant to: entertaining y'all! 
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	3. Chapter 3

It was an accident. 

He hadn’t intended to make this, truly and genuinely. He never wanted to  _ hurt  _ people. He would never intentionally make something like this. 

He’s going to get his powers back. He’s going to become stronger than ever, and then Laserblast will return to the scene, triumphant and better than ever before. He’s still a  _ hero,  _ and he would never hurt an innocent person.

And yet, here he is, staring at a beaker filled with pale-blue liquid. Exposed to oxygen, it aerosolizes into a sharp-smelling vapor. Anyone who inhales it is left dizzy and confused, effectively incapacitated while under its effects. He’d detected no long-lasting issues beyond a stubborn migraine, having discovered its properties after inhaling it himself. The rats took to it just fine as well, unhappy but unharmed, good as new in a day. 

This would have been so useful, he muses, if he’d had access to it back in POINT. Break a vial in a villain’s lair, let it do the dirty work. Quick and easy, no risk of casualties. 

He wonders if they would use this. 

He wonders if he could  _ sell  _ this. 

Laserblast looks over his scrapped-together lab. When his first lab had been discovered, he’d started to slowly withdraw from his bank account, collecting cash to keep on hand in case he was ever exposed. All of it had been poured into what he has now, and the money is running out. 

He could contact POINT. Offer his services, anonymously. They pay their techs well, rely on them to build their gear and provide biorepair nanites. The last time he’d offered one of his creations up, though —

A snarl pulls at his mouth. No. POINT will get nothing from him, not until they realize how much they need him. They’d sing a different tune if the villains got ahold of his work. They’d realize how important it is to get a sharper edge. 

And isn’t  _ that _ just a fascinating train of thought. 

Laserblast shakes his head immediately, a panicked flush burning over his face and down his back. He’s still a hero. 

Except, he’s not. He’s _powerless_. His muscles atrophy more by the day, and time is running out. It feels — it feels like he’s going to reach the point of no return, and without money, his work has slowed to a crawl. He’ll never be a hero again at this rate. 

Doing a little bad for the sake of the greater good. That’s — that’s okay, right? Most people would disagree, but most people can’t see the big picture. If anything, this little toxin will mean less people will get hurt. A villain’s not going to stop being a villain, but if they can harmlessly incapacitate those in their way, that means less casualties in the long run. That means Laserblast is still doing good, even from the shadows, even without his powers. 

This is his train of thought for the next three days. On the fourth, he makes a call. 

Billiam Milliam is himself not a particularly formidable foe. They’ve rescued more than a few wealthy individuals from his henchmen, arriving to strong-arm them into routing even more unfathomable wealth his way. His level comes not from power, but from influence. Without Billiam, the number of active villains would be drastically reduced. They’re hardly team players, after all. They don’t fund each other the way POINT funds upcoming heroes. 

Except for Billiam, the bane of POINT’s existence and untouchable behind his stacks of wealth and bodyguards. And today, Laserblast is going to make a crack in his defenses. It’s just one more way for him to do good in time — if he can get into Billiam Milliam's circle, he can tear him  _ down.  _

It’s fine. It’s  _ great.  _ It’s for the  _ greater good.  _ Everyone will see that when the time is right. 

He puts on a mask before making the call. His hands tremble when he lifts it over his eyes. He needs something that would appeal to a villain, something sinister. It’s green, his favorite color, with gold framing the eyes, metallic paint and scaled in design. Snakes curl off the edges of the mask like the hair of Medusa — snakes are his favorite animal, too. A cord is tightened behind his head. A cover comes up over the lower half of his face. His hair is combed neatly down.

There. Laserblast has temporarily become…  _ neutral.  _ He’s not a hero. He’s definitely not a villain. He can stand somewhere in-between for now.

With all the excitement leading up to this, it feels downright anticlimactic when Billiam himself doesn’t even answer the call. It’s one of his secretaries, of course, a silver mask over their own face. Suddenly, he realizes the stunning truth about selling a product to villains: it is exactly like selling any other product. He offers a free sample and ships it out, the anxiety that had built up to that moment feeling ridiculous now. 

It makes the news. He watches, and finds himself strangely excited to find his creation the center of attention. It makes him sick. It makes his heart race. It’s _exhilarating_. The guards outside a congressman’s home are dispatched harmlessly, the man beaten and bruised before heroes intervene. 

He gets a call. A new voice greets him, snobbish and grating. 

_ “Good evening!”  _ Billiam simpers.  _ “Are you the creator of that  _ marvelous  _ concoction that made the news?”  _

“That I am,” he answers, letting his voice drop to a monotone grate. “I’m glad to see it used in such capable hands. Though, I’m sure you would have liked to have more, before those heroes jumped in and ruined the fun.” 

_ “Oh, they’re just awful!”  _ Laserblast’s eye twitches. He needs to make this quick, so he doesn’t end the call just to be spared the man’s whining.  _ “I would give anything to put those pesky do-gooders in their place.”  _

“I take it that’s why you’ve contacted me.” His heart races. He could end the call now. He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to help a villain. 

_ “Naturally, darling. You see, the best way to be a villain is to support other villains! Especially bright, upcoming villains like yourself.”  _

He flinches. A protest jumps to his tongue, bitten back just in time. 

_ “Are you alright, my boy?”  _

“Fine,” he growls, and then clears his throat. “I’m wonderful. Mister Milliam, if you’re interested in purchasing more of that little mixture, I’m sure you and I can come to an agreement that suits us both.” 

_ “Wonderful! But before we get too far, my dear boy, please — what are you calling yourself?”  _

Laserblast’s throat works around a swallow, thick. A name. Of course he needs a name. He’s always hidden behind this one, not his real power, not his real abilities, just a gimmick, just a lie. A mask. 

He catches the reflection of himself in the darkness of the screen, the snakes curling around his eyes, the scales that hug his pale face. 

“Venomous,” he says. “You can call me Professor Venomous.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Venomous' mask is based on [this one!](https://www.deviantart.com/merimask/art/Green-Medusa-Mask-2013-346359069)
> 
> Thank you for the continued support! It makes me happy to know that you guys are enjoying this so far. <3 Please continue to share your thoughts with me, it makes me want to write more for you!


	4. Chapter 4

“Hold on tight,” is Laserblast’s only warning, delivered with a grin, before they peel off into the street. 

The others yelp and stagger as expected, Laserblast's arm shooting out to catch Rippy around the middle before she can take too much of a tumble. Silver and El-bow have enough muscle to keep themselves steady, counterbalancing Foxtail’s reckless driving by flexing against the handles they clutch. 

Rippy burbles her thanks as Laserblast sets her down, letting her hang onto his leg. They need to better adjust the van for shorter occupants, so Rippy doesn't have to cling for dear life as they screech around another corner with another chorus of shouts.

“Foxtail, slow down!” El-bow sputters, looking queasy from the ride. 

“Every second wasted is another civilian in trouble!” She barks back. “Tough it out, El-bow!”

His whimpering is drowned out by the roar of the engine as they hit a straightaway. Laserblast only chuckles. “You get used to it,” he promises. “Foxtail knows what she’s doing.” 

His eyes pan from El-bow’s greening face to Silver’s. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are wide and bright, a grin plastered onto her face. When she meets his gaze, and his grin, her cheeks go red and she looks away, Laserblast chuckling to himself. He likes her. The blushing is cute and all, but what he  _ really  _ likes is her spunk. Her  _ passion.  _

He braces again as they screech to a halt, already moving when the doors shutter open. “You three stay back, you’re support,” he calls, leaping out as Foxtail and Grayman spill from the front seat. 

“POINT has arrived!” Foxtail declares. A few civilians, either fallen, injured, or hiding, look up to them, relief flooding their faces. 

That’s the junior heroes’ job. He gives a backwards glance to make sure they’re covering evac before joining the others in the real battle: the giant, rusted fish that’s flailing in the street. Cars are flattened underneath it, the asphalt cracked, water gouting up where a pipeline cracked. 

Robots. No people, just robots. The blood drains from Laserblast’s face. 

“What are you standing around for, kid?” Foxtail cuffs the back of his head as she zips past. Grayman lifts a pile of rubble to halt the machine in its tracks, just in time for Foxtail to collide. 

Rusted metal shrieks and bends under her fist, but the thing keeps thrashing. Its jaws snap — Foxtail catches it with a grunt of effort, the thick leather of her boots and gloves keeping the teeth off her skin. It wouldn’t last long, the machine kept flailing about. If she lost her grip —

A hand flies to his helmet, sending a flat red beam slicing through the machine’s midsection. The metal shifts and grinds, its chassis groaning with the strain. 

“Atta-boy, Laserblast!” Grayman cheers, as the break in its frame allows Foxtail to pry herself free. Without her in the way, he can cut the metal through, leaving just a heap of scrap unmoving on the asphalt. 

His face feels frozen in a smirk. His mouth is twisted. He looks weird, doesn’t he. They can all see it. 

“That was amazing!” Silver’s voice nearly makes him jump as she throws her arms around his own, grinning up at him. “You just —  _ pew!  _ Sliced him  _ uuuup!”  _ She breaks into a cackling laugh, pumping her fist in the air. “Come on, where’s the rest of these things? I wanna give ‘em a smackdown.”

“There’s another question that should be asked,” Grayman pipes up, as he shifts the metal out of the way. The water ceases, the pipe temporarily sealed again under his power. “What else are we looking for, Silver Spark?” 

“Uhhh…” Her face scrunches up before — “Oh! The creator! I’m gonna kick their ass!” She punches her fist into her palm. 

_ “We’re _ gonna kick their ass,” Laserblast grins. “Teamwork makes the dream work, Sparks.” 

“Right!” The way she starts and blushes, giving him an enormous grin, he can’t help but grin in turn. Yeah, he  _ really  _ likes this newbie. 

It’s easy to follow the trail of destruction. Rippy pulls out a comically large magnifying glass as they move down the road, to where the chaos seems to concentrate. Ground Zero had been a shopping mall, of all places, a hoard of these scrap-metal fish dropped off around the fountain for seemingly no purpose other than reckless violence.

Whatever wreckage the first robot caused, it was ten times worse here. Broken windows, glass shards on the ground, walls caved in, tile cracked, the fountain flooding the entire area. And it was  _ thankfully  _ cleared, just three more of these junk fish flopping and snapping aimlessly. 

“El-bow and I can —” Laserblast holds up a hand as Sparks began to speak. She quieted, but didn’t look happy about it.

“You and El-bow are a great team,” he says. “But I think it’s time you two switch things up. Sparks, you work with Rippy. El-bow — Foxtail, can you take him?”

“Naturally,” she chuckled. “What d’ya say, kid? I’ll take  _ point,  _ you get the gold?”

Bow’s face went red under his mask as he looked to Sparks, seeming to want to protest before he gulps and nods. The two of them split off, Rippy and Sparks moving for another, leaving Grayman and… 

He looks to the man, jerking a chin towards the third bot. “You take that one. I’m gonna scout around for the source.” 

“Do not be too hasty, Laserblast,” he says, but he’s already moving towards the last fish, chunks of rubble circulating him to crunch it into scrap. 

_ Now. If I were an evil inventor, where would I be?  _

There’s every chance that the villain was smart, and would split off to their lair. There’s a much larger chance they’re skulking around, watching the show like a creep. 

He’d need a vantage point. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere…

Laserblast’s gaze lifts. The visor doesn’t just shoot lasers, it clarifies images for him, and now it zooms in on a figure hunkered down low on a square rooftop, chin tucked in their hands and a gleeful smile on their face. 

“Found the creator,” he murmured, toggling his earpiece. “Rooftop, west side. Meet up with me one you’ve dispatched the robots. Gray, I'll need a lift.” 

_ “Roger!”  _ Comes Silver’s voice, and a grumble from Foxtail follows. Laserblast takes off at a run. A call to Grayman has him lifting Laserblast into the air, body twisting to burn the momentum and hit the rooftop running. 

Robots, he can’t do robots. He can’t punch through  _ metal  _ at his base strength, not like Foxtail. But the creator is organic. He just needs to get close.

He springs from rooftop to rooftop, each building bunched close enough that there’s not even a moment of hesitation before he’s pushing off the next edge.  _ This  _ is what makes being a hero so fun. The blood pumping in his ears, heart racing, muscles working. The  _ exhilaration.  _

The villain sees him too late, busy spying through his binoculars and cackling to himself that he doesn’t even notice Laserblast until a fist is in his face. He’s a small, round man, green hair tufted atop his head and a cybernetic casing over one side of his face. 

The villain howls, clutching his cheek. “Blasted hero!” His shout is cut off as Laserblast grabs him by the collar, hoisting him up to eye level with a snarl on his face. 

“Shut them off,” Laserblast snarls. 

The villain gawks at him. “Aren’t you even going to ask who I am?” 

“That goes on your processing paperwork. Now, shut them off before I shut  _ you  _ off.”

“Okay!” The man’s one good eye is wide, the pupil dilated with fear, as it should be. It gives him a rush of satisfaction, seeing the panic in his eye. “Let me just —  _ just kidding!”  _ He hits a switch strapped to his wrist. Laserblast tenses as the rooftop shakes behind him, turning to see not another fish, but something that appears to be styled after a komodo dragon bellowing at him. 

“You thought I would really surrender!” The villain cackles, a hooting laugh between his words. “No! This will be the last time you underestimate Lad Boxman—  _ ow!”  _

Laserblast slams him into a wall. The fist clutched in his shirt digs up into the man’s throat, choking off his breath. He leans in close. “My team’s not here right now,” he growls. “They’re never gonna know what really happened if I tell them you had a little accident trying to get away. Now, shut that thing off. This is your last warning.”

The man,  _ Boxman, _ is shaking, sweat beading on his brow. “Aren’t — aren’t — aren’t you supposed to be the  _ hero!”  _

Laserblast cracks a grin at that. “What’s more heroic than taking evil out of the world?” 

_ “Laserblast!”  _

He jerks away from Boxman. Silver Spark is suddenly there, and drilling her fist into the chassis of the metallic lizard. It recoils before shrieking, acid spraying out of its jaws. Laserblast drops Boxman as he throws himself in front of Silver, grunting at the burn over his skin. She screams again as he reels around, visor blasting a bright ray into its body. The tail is severed, but the creature is startlingly quick, skittering atop the AC unit to scream down at them. 

“Silver —  _ damn it!”  _

No choice. He snarls as he shoves Silver back, making her stumble just far enough that she was out of his radius to Boxman. Laserblast slams a hand into the rooftop, a purple bubble swelling from his fist. At once he can feel energy flood into him as Boxman wheezes, knees giving out from the sudden drain. 

And then there’s something else. His eyes go wide. He gags, and spasms, collapsing, the field dying around him as his muscles jerk and shake.  _ Too much.  _ There’s too much energy all of a sudden, he’s going to burn up if he can’t — 

He springs up suddenly, doesn’t remember the moment between being on the ground and being in front of the bot, driving his fist into the metal. It pierces, the shards dragging up his arm, blood spilling over his skin as he only drags the hole wider with a scream of metal. His heart races. The world feels slow. He’s never been this strong before. 

The metal gives way entirely, Laserblast flinging a plate of it aside with a clatter. Something inside is bright and glowing — 

And then there’s nothing but dark. 

  
  
  


His head is pounding when he comes to. So is his entire body. It’s like he can feel the pulse in every blood vessel, the twitch of every muscle. 

“Hey — hey, hey, hey.” 

Laserblast’s eyes open, immediately finding Carol leaning over him. A gently smile is on her face as she brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Good morning, sleepy-head!” She laughs, but there’s a strain to it. 

“He finally up?” That’s Foxtail’s voice. Laserblast blinks, pushing himself up with a groan. Silver, bless her, is immediately bundling pillows behind him so he can lean back and still see the entire room, and everyone in it. 

The whole team is here. Silver and Foxtail, El-bow and Rippy, Grayman stands clutching his hat. A blush rises to his face as he looks down at himself, sees he’s in the med-bay gown. They  _ all  _ have been watching him lay here like an invalid this entire time. 

“What the hell,” is the first thing out of his mouth. 

“You overcharged yourself,” Grayman announces, no beating around the bush. “Those Boxman’s bots are powered by glorbs. When you activated your field, you flooded yourself with raw glorb energy — you are lucky you only collapsed!” 

Laserblast glares. “And how the hell was I supposed to know that?” After a beat, the glare fades, replaced by a stricken look. “And why do  _ they  _ know this.” He jerks his chin to the rookie heroes that crowd his bed. 

“We had no choice,” Foxtail huffs. “I know you wanted to wait to tell them, but Silver already saw you use your power. What were we supposed to say?” 

His jaw clenches. He stares down at his legs, drawing slow breaths in through his nose, puffing them out of his mouth. 

They know about his real power. They know his weakness now. 

“Hey,” comes Carol’s voice. He doesn’t look up, but she cups his jaw and tilts his head for him. “We can worry about all this later. For now, you need rest. Oh! And Rippy got you something.”

Rippy burbles a smiling affirmative as she digs around in her pouch, pulling out a giant drill, scraps of metal, and a christmas ornament before finally producing a still-wrapped red lollipop.

He stares at it for a moment before cracking a smile and a tired laugh. “ _ Hah.  _ Thanks, Rippy.” 

He rolls the sugar over his tongue, enduring their fussing and scolding and chatter. Laserblast catches Silver by the wrist as they finally take their leave, smiling at the flush that dusts her cheeks. “Thanks for the evac, by the way,” he smiles. “I figure you’re the one who pulled me outta there?”

“Huh?” She stares at him for a long moment before breaking into a too-big smile and a laugh. “Hah! No problem, partner!” She punches him in the arm, and then it turns into frantic apologies as he yelps at the pain. 

They calm, they smile, they laugh. Silver Spark takes her leave, twisting a curl of her hair in the way she tends to do when she’s acting shy. The door shuts, and he’s left alone. 

Laserblast leans back, closing his eyes with a sigh. 

_ Glorbs, huh.  _ He wonders what he could do with those. 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I'd write for OK K.O. but.... man, I'm just fascinated by Professor Venomous. Hopefully I'll keep this updating. Feel free to pitch ideas at me — most if not all of the chapters will be standalone scenarios of different points in his life. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading <3


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